Love is Faithful
by Cordelia McGonagall
Summary: an angsty bit of Severus, Lily, and The Bee Gees in slim one-shot...thanks to JKR for all


Chaser 2 Puddlemere - Our song was the Mauraders' era "How Deep Is Your Love" by the Bee Gees. I picked the line, "Keep me warm in your love and then softly leave." Optional prompts include the word _**blink**_ , setting the story in one room (his mind wanders, but he stays put), and adding a Dementor somewhere. Thanks to kind **Drarryiscannon** for the thoughtful feedback, and thank you for reading.

 **Love is Faithful**

The casket was elegant in its simplicity. The dovetailed joints were constructed to highlight the auburn of the cherry wood lacing with the lighter sections of blond, to be admired in the moment of stark beauty before they sank to rot. There was nothing ornate, no ornamentations; the handles were carved into the sides of the box itself, for it would be light enough for the men to lift with their fingers first and hoist onto their shoulders. They would want to carry it like this. If they could have lifted her out and cradled her in their arms, each would have preferred it. It would have been an honour. Severus felt a jab of hatred for those judged intimate enough to select this box for her, to carry her in it in front of everyone.

The pictures from the procession were in _The Daily Prophet._ This was as close as he dared get. There was nothing for him at the funeral, even if he'd been able to sneak into the church somehow. Yet he was able to bear witness - not to her murder but to her death _-_ every night in his dreams. On his first night back at Hogwarts, when he was finally able to sleep without a potion, his dreams were of this casket and nothing else.

He wouldn't fight this box. Each night, he hoped he would see her, a glimpse of her that would feel more real than the few, worn photographs he'd managed to scavenge and preserve. The dreams of her casket always ended before he could see her. He would blink, and the cherry case would lower into the churchyard grave or fade into nothingness as he touched it. It fueled a mania in him to be with her, even if in sleep. In his desperation, he asked Sybill for advice about inducing dreams. She rambled in circles and gave him some stale, pointless herbs. He endured her patronizing idiocy, and he made the tea and drank it, hating himself for it all. Now that it seemed so easy, so straightforward to understand how he could have made Lily his, she was tucked into the ground. Severus was wondering what was left for him. _Nothing_. He stared at the ceiling above his lonely bed.

Dumbledore had been crawling into his mind with legilimency and was likely concerned for what he saw there. The firm knots tying Severus Snape's brilliance to the world were slowly being eased apart by grief. Their meetings had become more frequent, and Severus knew Dumbledore was doing all he could to appeal to his unlikely servant's better nature. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Severus needed _her_. Looking around his silent Hogwarts' quarters, the room blurred, and he tried again to swallow the hard lump in his throat.

He hadn't been able to stop staring at the feast earlier that evening; Severus' revulsion and desire and grief had been blended into the features of one scrawny, pointless child. _How dare those eyes be on that face!_ He couldn't look away, and he was furious. He wasn't sure how he was going to sleep now, but he hoped, yet again, for the casket to finally reveal to him a glimpse of her face. Those eyes in that face. _Please._

"Severus."

She was wearing the frayed Muggle blue jeans and the white peasant shirt. He remembered these well. It was what she had first worn the day in late August when he had showed up to her house with a purple bruise under his eye. She had dragged him into the harsh glare of her bathroom, and the concentrated smell of her lavender soap and honeysuckle shampoo had so overwhelmed him that he hadn't answered her right away when she'd demanded to know what his father had done. She had mistaken his desire for injury and had touched her lips to his swollen cheek, and this had hurt more than anything his father could have done. He would easily have offered her his soul to her. If only she had wanted to take it with a kiss.

"Severus."

Severus rolled over and looked at her _here_ , in his bed, her hand tucked into her auburn hair as she curled into him, a soft smile playing at her mouth. Her eyes were cast down, her lashes hiding her eyes from him.

He knew, somehow, that if he spoke, she would disappear. He was afraid to move.

"Severus. Let me help you." She touched him, and he gasped at her solid warmth. She pulled him to her and held him. He was was desperate to pull away and see her face, but she was so warm, and he was so tired. He slept in the arms of his Dementor. Thinking of her as he closed the curtains to his bedroom, he didn't want to connect her with that boy's arrival. He didn't want to explain to the house elves why he wanted his room aired and the sheets changed. He didn't want to think about the lavender soap he'd purchased in Hogsmeade earlier that day. He read by weak lamplight until the words slid off the page, and then she came to him.

"Hiya, Sev," she whispered. She was wearing a white nightgown, and he fixated on the shadow of a breast through the thin cotton. He heard her click her tongue in mock annoyance, but she slid next to him and drew him close, and he could feel the face he couldn't see grin against his chest. He wouldn't take her for granted again. He wouldn't ask more from her than she wanted to offer him. Though she never asked about her son, she only looked at him through the boy's eyes during the lonely days. It was another in an endless list of things denied him. Yet she gave him her warmth every night, and she left his soul behind when she slipped away at dawn.


End file.
